Ab Irato
by Lady Parergon
Summary: The fallout of Casino Royale leaves Bond with a one-track objective of revenge, until he finds someone with the same goal. Peer into the things that were unsaid and unseen in Quantum of Solace. Cover illustration by Laura Marchetto. T for everything in the movie.
1. I

**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything pertaining to James Bond or Quantum of Solace, or anything else related to this material of which I written about. All rights are reserved by the original owners.

 _ **Author's Note:**_ This story has been in the works on-and-off for over 3 years, so I'm pleased to finally release it. I really like Quantum of Solace, not only as a follow up to the events of Casino Royale, but also for the things they did with Bond's character. There's so much that is unsaid that happens in this film, and this fic is essentially a re-write that gets into Bond's head a little more, as well as some of the other characters. My goal was to show a more human side to Bond; he holds everything in, and his emotional state starts bleeding into everything he does. At the same time, it's still rather aloof - this is James Bond after all, are we ever going to know what makes him tick?

* * *

I.

 _Ab irato: from an angry man or, "by an angry person"; used in law to describe a decision or action that is detrimental to those whom it affects and is motivated by hatred or anger instead of reason._

It seemed like he had only been in Haiti for seven minutes when he'd tracked down Slate's hotel, Slate's room, and the knife-wielding Slate himself. But that was already over and done with. James Bond shrugged on a black jacket he found in the room and dabbed the blood from his face. It would take a while for the staff to find Slate's body, and by then Bond would be long gone.

MI-6 had tasked him to track down a sinister organization known only as 'Quantum'. With the attempted murder of M back in Italy, this mission had become even more personal to Bond. Of course, there was also the matter that Vesper had been attached to the group through a man named Mr. White. By tracing his currency, the secret service had found a courier by the name of Slate, thus bringing James to the Caribbean nation.

A quick stop at the front desk yielded a silver attaché case – he would have to examine it somewhere else. James had barely gotten a few yards from the door when a small car sped up to the curb. The driver, an attractive young woman, looked at him pointedly.

"Get in," she ordered.

It was obvious that she had been expecting someone, but didn't know who exactly to look for. James stalled a moment so that he could check the surroundings. "What?"

"Get in," the woman repeated, her tone was impatient.

He got into the car and she accelerated.

"You're late."

"I got pulled into a meeting."

"Who with?"

"A friend of Mr. White's," he replied, saying the name to test her.

"Don't think I know him," she said carefully, then took a closer look him. "It's funny. You don't look at all like I expected."

"Really? What were you expecting?"

"I didn't think geologists looked so…"

"So?" James prompted. He smiled a little at what she wasn't saying.

Her eyes flicked up to the rear-view mirror. "Friend of yours?"

He looked over his shoulder and spotted a man following them by motorbike. "I don't have any friends."

The woman instantly sent the car around a few corners to lose the tail for a few minutes. She stopped partway down an alley so that they could finally talk business.

"We didn't settle on a price," she told him.

"Make me an offer."

"We can work it out later, over drinks."

James was a little surprised at her straightforwardness – she wasn't wasting time in a long-drawn seduction – and the fact that he would've used a similar line.

"Dominic didn't give you any trouble, did he?" she continued.

Finally a piece of information; he needed a last name, but this was a start. "No," he replied, opening the case and passing her a document.

The woman flipped through it quickly, the whole thing was blank. "What is this?" she asked, annoyed.

James lifted up another document to reveal a handgun and a photo of the woman currently seated next to him. "I think someone wants to kill you!" he said with a laugh.

He caught the movement out of the corner of his eye. Catching her arm, he redirected the bullet's trajectory out the open car window. Their eyes locked a moment, before he bailed out of the vehicle and she sped away.

"That wasn't very nice," he muttered.

By this time, the man riding the motorcycle had caught up with him. He pulled up alongside James, looking confused. "You were supposed to shoot her!"

"Well, I missed," he replied, before knocking the man clear off the vehicle. That woman was his only link to Quantum, and someone wanted her gone. He raced after her on the newly acquired motorcycle, dodging the bustle of the streets that led to the docks. His cell phone started ringing. This was not the time to have lengthy discussions with Vauxhall; M wanted to know about Slate, their only lead to White. Slate was a dead end.

* * *

James arrived at Kings Quay in time to see his asset striding to a building on the far side of a guarded gate. She would have to come out eventually. He halted the motorcycle nearby and watched the scenario from afar.

A couple minutes passed and she reappeared, talking with an uninspiring-looking man. Whoever he was, he was undoubtedly in charge, as everyone else appeared to be either a guard or minion. The man led her toward the edge of the dock, where they peered down into the water. Whatever was down there wasn't good; even from a distance James could see her body stiffen. More dialogue passed between them and Camille wrapped her arms around the shorter man. It seemed as though she was trying to get back into his good graces, but he wasn't buying it. If he wanted to get rid of her, it wasn't likely that he would stop after that failed attempt.

James went to the gate and gave the watchman an innocuous business card to pass along to her. He knew that the camera had gotten a good shot of him, but he had to make contact; he was confident that he could turn her.

Next on the scene was a white speedboat coming from a posh yacht farther out in the harbour. Its owner, a man of South American features came ashore to talk with the man James assumed to be this Dominic the woman had mentioned. When they had concluded their business, Dominic introduced her to the other man and sent her with his entourage, and a henchman wrapped his meaty hand around her arm in a vice-like grip.

There wasn't much time before the speedboat returned to the yacht. James drove through stacks of crates, looking for the fastest route to the water. Racing through the loading zones and off of the dock, he roared across large boat and crashed onto a second one. In the wake of commotion he'd caused, James slipped onto an unoccupied motorboat. Deftly piloting it through the other boat traffic, the moment the white speedboat came into view, he revved the engine and slammed his craft straight into the other.

Before anyone had a chance to react, James jumped onboard and was a little surprised to see the woman pull a gun out from under her skirt and aim it at the South American. There wasn't time to analyze the situation though; he swiftly hauled her into another nearby motorboat. A shoulder check told him that the men from the speedboat were already in pursuit, along with backup. He clutched the steering wheel and put the engine into full throttle.

The woman leapt up beside him, looking furious. "What the hell are you doing?!" she shouted.

Some appreciation for saving her skin. "You're welcome."

"You idiot! Take me back!"

"You know, maybe I'll do that later."

She lashed out, trying to hit him but he easily caught her arm; the hard part was struggling with her and piloting the boat at the same time. Finally it seemed to sink in that he wasn't out to kill her.

"You're not one of Greene's?"

The last name he'd been waiting to hear. "Dominic Greene?" Before she could reply, several rounds of bullets tore through the air. "Get down!"

Another vessel sideswiped them and they were turned around, exposed to a barrage of gunfire. Camille was ready when they came past the boat – she swung a board into one of the men. At least she was helping now. James accelerated, speeding through the harbour at a dangerous pace.

Camille was at his side again, yelling to be heard over the roaring engine. "Give me the wheel!"

"Navigate!" he said in return.

Thankfully she took directions better than she did being rescued. "Left!"

The spray of water coming from the bow shielded them view long enough to get past more of their pursuers, who were crunching several other boats in the process. James swung the craft around, now heading directly for two oncoming boats.

"What are you doing?!"

"Hold on!" he hollered, and told her to hit the deck.

Ramming one of the boats at full speed gave him enough time to come around and demolish its outboard motor. One down, one left. The other craft was far too fast. James cut power, instantly slowing their speed. The black motorboat crashed into them and wedged itself up on the stern. The impact threw both of them down, which was where James found a large, three-pronged hook. He threw it into the other boat and pulled tight, puncturing the inflatable part and sending it skyward.

James wasted no time in getting clear of the area, looking back several times to make sure that there was no one else chasing them. It was strange that the woman hadn't jumped up again; he glanced back to find her lying unconscious at the bottom of the boat. At least she wouldn't be asking questions. Eventually he came to a resort loaded with sun-seekers and docked there with a tremendous spray of water. He took a moment to check the woman's head and neck for any serious injury. Finding none, he picked her up and climbed out of the boat. On the dock, James spotted an attendant and got the man's attention.

"Excuse me," he said, then unceremoniously deposited her limp body into his arms. "Thank you. She's seasick."

The staff would take care of her until she came to; hopefully she'd have a bit more sense when she awoke.


	2. II

II.

 _Three measures of Gordon's Gin, one of Vodka, half a measure of_ _Kina Lillet (which is not Vermouth). Shaken well until it is ice cold and served with a large, thin slice of lemon peel. Six of them._

That fiasco in the harbour was completely unacceptable. If one man could wreak that much havoc, he was certainly one to eliminate if at all possible. Dominic Greene could not afford to have a dangerous element get that close to him. Although he hadn't been after Greene in particular – Dominic had no idea why the man would go to such lengths to take that woman away from the general's sweaty palms – he knew that it would only be a matter of time until this agent, whomever he was working for, interfered in the organization's plans. Dominic would deal with that shortly; at present, he had something to attend to before he made his imminent departure from Haiti.

"Have the guard from the front gate brought in," he instructed Elvis, his cousin and right-hand man.

The guard entered a minute later, and Dominic waited for him to pass onto a floor rug before motioning for him to stop.

"I understand that you stopped a man at the gate, and that he wanted to speak with the woman that was here. And you didn't think to report this immediately?You were hired to keep this area secure. Unfortunately, I must inform you that you are hereby discharged."

Dominic turned to his desk and gathered up the last of his papers into a small briefcase. He barely flinched when the gunshot echoed through the warehouse. With a click of the lock, he turned back around and walked around the lifeless body that was slumped on the floor.

"What would you like for us to do with him?" Elvis asked in French.

"Wrap it up in that rug, weight it, and toss it into the water," Greene ordered. "Get the other men to do it – you and I are going to be late for the flight. The CIA probably lack the patience to wait more than five minutes."

* * *

The chartered flight to Bregenz, Austria gave Bond time to think. Too much time, in fact. He found that his mind continually went back to Vesper, and that had all the pain of a raw, open wound.

In an effort to be preoccupied, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the identification card from the woman at the quay – he had slipped it from her purse during that encounter in the car. _Camille Montes_. It was evident that Greene wanted her out of the picture; why didn't she try to kill him instead of the man on the boat?There was always someone awake at MI-6. James snapped a photo of the card and sent it along to be analyzed. A minute later the information returned. It appeared that Ms. Montes had been in the Bolivian Secret Service, though was no longer active with them. There wasn't much on her, but he was confident that she wasn't a member of Quantum.

At least he had one card still in play. Now that he had a direct lead on Dominic Greene, there was a good chance that he would in turn lead Bond straight to the rest of Quantum. By the time he was done with that shadowy group, those people would have to find a new place to meet…

* * *

The young woman rolled over in bed; something had disturbed her sleep. A ringing sound prompted her to turn toward it and fumble for the source of the disruption. Peeking out of a half-opened eye, she picked up her phone and checked the caller I.D. – it was work.

"Hello?" she said groggily.

A woman on the other end answered. "Good morning, Fields. I woke you up, didn't I?"

"Yes, so I hope that it was worth calling me on my day off."

"The consulate just received a call from the Foreign Secretary. It seems as though they have an intelligence officer that needs to be sent back to Britannia."

"Why can't they send one of their own to deal with him?"

"Apparently it would be more expedient for us to do it. In any case, the consulate cannot spare any staff at present, so I've been asked to contact you to meet him at the airport."

"It's my day off! Are you sure that there isn't anyone else?"

"I'm afraid not. Sorry to be the bearer of bad news. You'll be compensated for it, if that makes you feel any better."

"I guess…"

"I'll send you the details and a photograph so that you can spot him quickly. Actually, you may have a change of heart when you take a look at his picture."

"Really?"

"Oh, something else you should know:his flight arrives in about twenty minutes."

"What?!"

"You might want to hurry, because you have to pick him up immediately."

Fields leapt out of bed. It would take her nearly that long just to get to the airport even if she called the fastest taxi driver she knew. There wasn't even going to be any time to get dressed. She glanced at herself in the mirror and grimaced – what a way to make a first impression! Hastily running her fingers through her hair with one hand, she brushed her teeth with the other. She hadn't taken off her makeup from yesterday, but it wasn't that smudged. Fields next threw on a trench coat on over her camisole and panties, and shoved her feet into a pair of leather boots. There was no time to get her purse arranged, so she snatched her wallet, cell phone, and keys from the table and stashed them in her pockets. She took one more look in the mirror before dashing out the door – hopefully no one would suspect that she wasn't properly dressed...

* * *

He immediately noticed the woman marching purposely towards him as he and Mathis walked out of the arrivals area of the airport. How could he miss her?The woman's hair was bright red and styled in a cute bob. Aside from her trench coat and boots, she didn't seem to be wearing much else. James couldn't help but wonder _just how short_ her skirt was, and how any government office would allow its staff to dress that way.

"Mr. Bond, my name is Fields. I'm from the consulate."

"Well, of course you are," he replied with a bit of a smile. "And what do you do at the consulate, Fields?"

"That's not important." She struggled not to look him up and down. The photo she'd received hadn't quite done him justice – his eyes were very blue. "My orders are to turn you around and put you on the first plane back to London."

"Do those orders include my friend, Mathis?"

She sent a passing glance in the other man's direction; it was going to be hard enough to handle Mr. Bond on his own, let alone his companion. "I'm sorry, I don't know who you are," she said curtly.

Both men strode out of the terminal, exchanging banter. They did not seem to have the slightest intention of following instructions, and were instead hailing a cab.

"Mr. Bond, these orders come from the highest possible authority."

"Fields, when is the next flight to London?" Bond asked.

"Tomorrow morning."

"Well then, we have all night."

She ignored the flirtatious remark and continued talking; "If you attempt to flee, I will arrest you and drop you off in jail and then take you to the plane in chains. Understand?"

He opened the taxi door for her. "Perfectly. After you."

It was obvious that she would not be able to let Bond out of her sight. The consulate had arranged for him to overnight in a local hotel, but at the rate things were going, she would likely have to take a room as well. Fields hadn't started to become anxious until Bond did an about-face out of the selected hotel. He directed the taxi straight for the most posh hotel in La Paz, and immediately selected lavish rooms to accommodate Mathis and himself.

Fields stood stiffly at the entrance as Bond roamed around the black and white suite, seemingly searching for something.

"I can't find the stationary. Will you come and help me look?" he asked.

Fields let out a laugh, but followed him into the bedroom. She would help him find stationary anytime.


	3. III

III.

 _When one's young, it seems very easy to distinguish between right and wrong. But, as one gets older, it becomes more difficult. The villains and the heroes get all mixed up. -Mathis_

Even though Mathis was there as moral support for locating Quantum, his main duty was to bankroll Bond, since MI6 had cut off their agent. That said, James Bond was dressed to the nines as he entered the Eco Park Charity Fundraiser with a polished-looking Fields beside him. She had been delighted to choose a dress for the evening, all the while assuring him that it was part of her orders to keep an eye on him.

"It might be useful to know your real name," James remarked to her as they stepped inside.

"Fields. Just Fields," she replied.

"Fields it is, then. Although, one might call you 'Strawberry Fields'…" he said with a smirk.

She gaped at him, but her English sensibility prompted her to regain composure. "I'll thank you for not making _that_ nickname catch on…again."

Refreshments were served and soon Dominic Greene was giving a speech from a second floor balcony, imploring the gathered philanthropists to aid Greene Planet in relieving Bolivia's water crisis. From where Bond was mingling on the floor, he was able to keep a close watch on the man as he met with other investors above. He also noticed a certain CIA man lounging on a sofa, wearing a bored, exasperated expression.

From out of the crowd a woman in a black dress walked up to Greene and casually slung an arm across his shoulders. James instantly recognized her as the same woman in Haiti – Camille Montes. With a kiss on the red-head's cheek he excused himself from Mathis and his friend, the police chief, and he moved to the staircase to get to the second floor. Camille could still be a valuable asset, but James was quite sure that Greene wouldn't dare to keep her around very long.

His assumption was correct – by the time James reached them, Greene had cornered her on section of deteriorating stonework and was quietly attempting to shove her over with it. She let out a gasp as several small chunks shifted and fell.

"Good evening," James said, his eyes locking with hers. "There you are."

Camille did look rather relieved to see a familiar face; however, Greene was passively seething.

Back on the floor, Fields could see a situation developing on the far side of the establishment. She too excused herself – if Bond needed her assistance, she wanted to be ready and waiting for his cue.

Meanwhile, Bond showed uncharacteristic leniency in waiting for Greene to finish making his derogatory comments about the woman trapped behind him. He couldn't imagine how she could even bear to kiss that man, let alone sleep with him.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Greene, but we have to go." Bond moved to take Camille's hand, but Greene stepped to the side to block him and keep her back.

"Please, my friends call me Dominic."

"I'm sure they do," James replied.

"How much do you know about Bond, Camille?" he said, while staring at the other man. "Because he's a rather tragic case; as MI6 says, he's difficult to control. Nice way of saying that everything he touches seems to wither and die. Doesn't bode well for you, I'm afraid."

James reached over and seized her hand. "Shall we?" He succeeded in getting her away from the manipulative man, and they made a swift exit via the nearest staircase.

Greene continued talking as he watched them leave; "You two do make a charming couple though. You're both… what's the expression? Damaged goods."

On the way down they passed Fields, who was ascending to run interference. Bond knew that Greene's henchman would likely summon backup follow them. A moment later there was a crash and a cry of "Oh, my gosh! I'm so sorry!" James glanced back to see the henchman in question lying at the bottom of the stairs. He almost smirked – she could probably get away with that false sincerity any day.

Camille didn't say anything until they were almost outside. "So it's British intelligence now. What do you want from me?" she demanded.

"You're going to show me Dominic Greene's Tierra Project. Are you up to it?" he asked as she got into the passenger seat of the Range Rover he had rented.

"Do I have a choice?"

"Do you want one?" he asked her with a slight smile.

"There's something horribly efficient about you," Camille remarked.

"Is that a compliment?"

They started driving out of town, but were soon pulled over by two motorcycle police. Intuition told Bond that this wasn't a routine check.

"Well, what's the bet that Greene has friends in the police force? Stay here," he told the woman before exiting the vehicle.

The officer wanted him to open the trunk; Bond did as he was instructed and was dismayed to find Mathis lying back there, looking badly beaten. The moment Bond reached in to help the older man to his feet, the officers drew their handguns and yelled that the foreigner was drawing a concealed weapon.

"Get down," a feminine voice ordered.

James pulled his companion down just before the bullets whizzed over their heads. Both of the police officers both lay motionless on the ground. He looked back into the Rover where Camille had shot out from the back seats; she had crawled through the moment he had gotten out.

James returned his attention to Mathis, who was slumped beside the vehicle. "Are you hit?"

"I don't think so… I'm not sure."

James rapidly checked the man for any bleeding that seemed to be more than what his injuries could account for. By this time Camille had alighted and stood nearby.

"There's a hospital on the other side of town," she quietly informed them.

"We can't go back." He looked at Mathis – the man was going into shock. "I shouldn't have left you alone." Before he had even finished mentally formulating the next steps, he was hauling Mathis into the back seat of the SUV.

"Where are we taking him?" Camille asked, glancing back at the older man as James accelerated through the streets.

"The consulate. It's the closest thing."

Once they reached the gates of the British consulate, Bond brought the vehicle to an abrupt halt. He turned back to the Mathis. "This is as good as I can do."

"They were going to send me back anyway."

A couple of guards were already on their way over to the gate. Camille kept her head slightly turned. They would already be facing trouble over what had just happened with those police officers, and she didn't need to be recognized as a prime suspect. Bond evidently felt the same way.

The older man grabbed James' shoulder. "Do we forgive each other?"

James stared back at him. "Yes," he murmured.

"Vesper – she gave everything for you. Forgive her. Forgive yourself."

He couldn't respond; he was choked up. After giving Bond the monetary contents of his wallet, Mathis opened the door and practically fell out just as the guards were coming through the gate. The Range Rover left in a cloud of dust. Once Rene Mathis had explained that Bond had coerced him into flying halfway across the world, perhaps the British government would return him to his peaceful retirement in Talmone.

* * *

The drive out to the arid desert region of Bolivia was a long one. After Camille had given him the directions they rode in silence for a while, each staring out the windows at the sleeping city. When they were nearing what seemed like the outskirts of civilization, they saw one last store with its lights on. Bond brought the vehicle to a stop.

"When was the last time you ate?" he asked her.

Camille shrugged. "I can't remember."

"I'll see what we can get from this place. We'll need some water too."

He moved to unbuckle his seatbelt, but she raised a hand. "I'll go – you will only raise eyebrows."

"And you suppose a woman in an evening dress won't?" he replied.

She narrowed her eyes at him, but her features conveyed humour. His shirt was stained with blood from earlier, and a clerk would certainly call that in.

The driving was slightly challenging on the dirt roads; it was pitch black, and the adrenaline had worn off. Before he realized it, James was falling asleep and drifting about on the road.

"Mr. Bond," Camille spoke, making his eyes snap open. "I'll drive for a bit; besides, I've been up this way a couple of times at least."

They traded seats and Bond reluctantly tried to relax.

"When was the last time you slept?" she inquired.

He took a minute to recall the past twenty-four hours, and couldn't remember sleeping much during any of that time. In fact, he couldn't remember the last time he _had_ fallen into a deep sleep.

"I can't recall" he replied.

"Well, now is your chance."

* * *

 _ **Author's Notes:**_

So here's a short rant on Strawberry Fields... First off, who names their daughter 'Strawberry'? That just sets up the poor kid for a lifetime of awkwardness. My headcanon on this is that her first name is indeed 'Strawberry' (poor kid), but her middle name is Anne, so she uses that as her preferred name. After all, Anne Fields has a nice sound. She tries - and often fails - to keep her actual first name secret, and even if it does come to light, she tries to pass it off as a nickname - also with varied success.

Short rant #2: In the movie - this is an obvious spoiler btw - I really disliked how Mathis' character was handled. To have his body unceremoniously dumped onto a trash heap seemed like a needlessly callous scene, yet also something like what Ian Flemming would have written. I've read Ian Flemming's original writings - I didn't like them. Therefore, this story is not going to track anywhere close to Flemming's ideal.


	4. IV

IV.

 _You're sick of feeling numb / You're not the only one / I'll take you by the hand / And I'll show you a world that you can understand / This life is filled with hurt / When happiness doesn't work / Trust me, and take my hand / When the lights go out you'll understand -"Pain" Three Days Grace_

Camille and James switched driving once more during the night, he taking the wheel an hour before dawn. The sunrise over the barren landscape was breathtaking. James took a moment to reflect on that – a rarity for him to have a moment of peace to do so. They soon reached a large flat valley, in the middle of which sat a small airport consisting of nothing more than a few hangars. Camille had mentioned that they would need to fly over the sites of the Tierra Project, so he was already prepared to pilot an aircraft that day. She was still sleeping when he came to a stop, but would awaken any moment since the motion of the vehicle had ceased. It had been a long drive, and he was eager to stretch his legs for just a bit. James wasted no time in negotiating with the man running the establishment, and soon they were settling into the cockpit of a silver DC3.

"How much did you pay him?" Camille asked as she adjusted her headset.

"Well, he wanted you," he replied frankly, "but I left him the car as collateral." It seems like everyone wants a piece of her, James thought. "He'll make much more when he sells us out."

She wasn't surprised by that. Greene's organization was well accustomed to bribing anyone they encountered to make sure that things went smoothly.

"Right. Let's see if this thing will fly," Bond said.

The plane taxied down the runway with a huge dust cloud rising in its wake. Once they were in the air, Camille navigated using the regional maps from the airport.

"Here," she indicated the area where Dominic's Tierra Project began. "All the information I found said there was nothing of value here, but Greene's geologist had proof that there was."

James glanced out the window. He didn't see anything yet, but there must be some evidence of oil down there; if that was indeed what the rumours were about.

"My sources tell me you're Bolivian Secret Service, or used to be, and that you infiltrated Greene's organization by having sex with him," James said bluntly.

"That offends you?" she asked, restraining a sarcastic laugh. There was no telling how many women this man had seduced to accomplish his missions.

"No, not in the slightest," he replied, not mistaking what her tone implied.

"So what's your interest in Greene?"

"Amongst other things, he tried to kill a friend of mine."

"A woman?" she asked, now curious.

"Yes. But it's not what you think."

"Your mother?"

"She likes to think so." Something on the earth below caught his attention. "What's that down there?"

"That's a sinkhole. There are a few around here." Camille fell silent a moment, then started to give some context to her situation. "For the record, I wasn't with Greene for my own…"

A volley of gunfire unexpectedly tore along the top of their aircraft. They started losing altitude right away, and Bond had to struggle to keep the plane from going into the ground. One of the engines must have taken a shot or two. Dropping the landing gear, he maintained a tight grip on the wheel as they slammed off an outcrop of rock. With more peaks right ahead, James had just enough time to get the plane higher up in the air and maneuver between the geography.

"He sold us out much faster than I expected," Camille remarked, before she removed her headset. She left the co-pilot seat and went to look out the passenger windows. "I think we lost him…" She looked out the other side. "He's coming fast!"

The fighter jet was much faster than the DC3. Within ten seconds another blast of gunfire tore into their plane, this time definitely hitting the port engine. James fought to maintain control; the mountains offered some protection, provided he didn't crash into them.

"He's right behind you!" Camille exclaimed.

Opening the throttle, even more black smoke poured from the engine, though this guided effort sent it right into the fighter pilot's face. By the time it cleared, Bond had positioned the silver airplane directly over top of the smaller one, forcing the aircraft into slower pace that ran parallel to the clifftops. It didn't take long until an area appeared that would squeeze out the assault plane entirely. James pulled up just in time to avoid taking off a wing, but the other pilot was not so fortunate. The resulting explosion shook their plane, and a moment later an emergency light flashed on the control panel.

James grabbed the parachute out from under the co-pilot seat and tossed it back to Camille, who had managed not to get hit by a stray bullet. "Here – put that on!"

As she hurriedly strapped it on, James reached under his own seat for the parachute, but wasn't finding one. He eyed the flashing "generator failure" light as he felt around for the life-preserving item, and then finally looked underneath. There was absolutely no second chute. By the time his focus returned to what was happening outside, their aircraft had cleared a mountaintop only to come into the line of fire of a waiting helicopter. There was no other option but to keep ascending, but the engines were failing fast.

The cargo in the middle of the fuselage snapped its fastenings and slammed into the back of the plane, completely throwing off the balance. Camille was nearly crushed, but was able to shelter herself by the framing around the door, which she had just removed. They were almost vertical in the air. She could hear Bond cursing at the machine but to no avail. Just as the engines died, James unbuckled his seat belt and slid down to the back of the hull, bouncing off the sides as he fell, and landing hard beside her. He grabbed Camille and they leapt from the plane.

The DC3 started to fall right next to them, but Bond's immediate concern was his lack of a parachute. He wasn't able to hold onto the woman, and they were plummeting earthward. She was only a couple feet away from him, yet if he lost her now, it would mean certain death.

"Come here!" he shouted at her.

They were close; their hands kept missing each other. Out of the corner of his eye James could see the smoking plane reaching terminal velocity. It crashed in a fiery explosion, but they kept falling into a deep sinkhole. Finally they grasped each other's arms. The ground was coming up too fast; the parachute would barely have time to open. Bond yanked the cord and the chute opened. A few seconds later they hit the floor of the cavern, rendering both James and Camille unconscious.

* * *

The man was going to be her undoing, Fields thought to herself as she paced around the hotel room. Last night at the gala things had started to go sideways soon after she and Bond had arrived. The man that he had arrived in the country with had disappeared. Even more reprehensible though, was the fact that Bond and some other woman had swiftly left the party – after getting into an argument with the host, Dominic Greene of Greene Planet – and letting the agent out of her sight was the one thing she was supposed to avoid. However, it had been obvious that James needed a diversion, hence the trip-up on the stairs. After that, Fields melted into the crowd, trying to formulate a plan. Then the consulate called her in.

It wasn't difficult getting Mathis sorted out, although she had been shocked by the beating the older man had received. Explaining the MI-6 agent's killing of Bolivian police and his current whereabouts was much harder. After getting reprimanded by her superiors first thing that morning, Fields returned to the hotel suite that Bond had booked, hoping that he would be there, and she could avoid getting fired. Her hopes were dashed – there was no sign of James Bond.

"No, he's still not back yet… Are you sure he hasn't gone to the airport?" she spoke into her cell phone. "Again, I have not the faintest idea of where the man could be… MI-6 is sending someone? When will they arrive? Oh no… Well all I can say is that I did my best to watch him, but there is no stopping Bond once he's set on something. Yes, that is my professional opinion!"

Fields let out a tired sigh once the call from the consulate had ended. She looked at her appearance in the mirror and found herself still wearing the evening dress from last night. With another sigh she tried to smooth her hair into place before she went down for coffee. Something in the reflection caught her eye. Fields turned around and stared at the low table in the middle of the room – there was a gift basket that hadn't been there before. This wouldn't have been unusual had Bond not put a "Do Not Disturb" sign on the door.

In a second she darted over and dug through the basket, and stifled a gasp at what she found. Fields threw the listening device to the floor and stamped on it; while they had been out, the hotel room had been bugged. There was no point in searching for any others – whomever was on the receiving end already knew that they had been found out. She fled immediately. As Fields marched down the gleaming white hallway to the elevator, she noticed a man attempting to be inconspicuous at the opposite side of the hotel's atrium. Once inside the elevator, she took a deep breath and tried to calm herself. The doors opened and Fields went up to the reception desk.

"I'm going out and I'd like to leave a note for my husband," she told the man. "Have you paper and pen?"

Her hand shook as she wrote. Out of the corner of her eye and spotted a couple other men who were more than casually staring in her direction. She had to get back to the consulate. Folding the note and handing it to the clerk, Fields quickly strode out of the building and hailed a taxi.

"British consulate. Fast as possible; this is an emergency," she told the driver in Spanish.

Fields breathed a sigh of relief when the taxi sped from the hotel. Her relief was shattered moments later in a deserted side street when an SUV pulled in front of the taxi, and men got out and approached the car.

"Back up!" she shouted.

There were a couple muffled gunshots and the taxi driver slumped over, blood was sprayed all across the dashboard of the car. Fields clawed at the door and all but fell out. Before she could take two step they were upon her, dragging her back to the SUV. Fields kicked and screamed violently, but there was no one to rescue her.


	5. V

V.

 _It'd be a pretty cold bastard who didn't want revenge for the death of someone he loved. -M_

It wasn't very long until Bond regained consciousness. Camille was already awake and sitting nearby, watching him with a concerned expression on her face.

"You don't have any broken bones," she informed him.

"Considerate of you to check."

"I found you lying face-first on the ground; I thought you were dead."

James' blue eyes met hers. He hadn't expected that from her. "Are you alright?"

"Yes."

"Good. We'll both be able to walk out of here. Where are we exactly?"

"In one of those sinkholes I pointed out earlier."

He looked about the dimly-lit subterranean atrium. "I'm going take a look around. Stay here."

She nodded, and he left. There was something like a rough path through the cave system, and James went down several ways, looking for anything that would indicate an exit. When he felt a breeze flowing inward from the passage ahead, he felt confident that it would lead to the surface. Retracing his steps to go back to the place they had landed in, his movements were agile, despite the numerous large rocks that were scattered all over.

He returned to find Camille sitting on the ground with her knees drawn up to her chest and her arms folded tightly, trying to keep warm in the cool air. Something about how she looked at that moment struck him – she looked like a lost, scared little girl, and not the bold, confident woman he was acquainted with.

"I think I found a way out," he told her. James removed his dinner jacket and draped it over her shoulders. "You're freezing."

"I'm fine," she murmured, but huddled under it anyway, the jacket being warm from his body heat.

James leaned against a nearby rock, taking a moment to rest, and gazed at Camille – if there was going to be a time when she would open up, it was now.

"So, what is it that Greene has that you want?" he asked.

"It's not Greene," she replied quietly, "it's Medrano, the man he met in Haiti." Camille paused, then continued. "My father worked for the military junta. He was a very cruel man, but he was my father." She looked up at him and a ghost of a smile went across her face. He knew what she meant. "When I was a small child, the opposition sent General Medrano to our house. He shot my father. He did things to my mother and my sister… and then strangled them as I watched. I was too young to be any trouble, so he just smiled at me… and then set the house on fire. He left his mark."

"So when I pulled you off the boat…"

"I waited years for that chance…" she said, her voice trembling slightly.

With all that James had seen and done, it didn't take much for his mind to paint a vivid picture of what Camille's life had been like. The innocent little girl growing up with those images of horror replaying constantly behind her eyes, all the while working to acquire the skills and strength needed to one day avenge her family. He could imagine Camille pushing herself everyday, doing things she loathed; anything to get her close enough to the monster she sought to destroy.

Yet, it was more than that. He knew all about being alone in the world, to have only oneself to depend on. He knew how it felt to hold that kind of rage inside, how it fueled, and how it would consume. Suddenly it was like he knew everything about Camille, as though he had seen her whole life pass before his eyes.

"I apologize," he said quietly. "It seems we're both using Greene to get to somebody."

"You lost somebody?"

"I did, yes." For the first time, he admit that he had lost someone very close and very dear to him. The confession in itself eased the pain, but it still stung in his chest.

"You catch whoever did it?" Camille asked.

"No. Not yet."

"Tell me when you do," she said, anger briefly burning in her eyes as she stared up at him. "I'd like to know how it feels."

James shifted his weight and looked away for a moment. He wasn't sure what he would do when he caught up with the ones responsible for Vesper's death. Camille needed justice. Maybe all he had was vengeance. He would have to dwell on it later, and with the amount of walking they had ahead of them, he would have plenty of time.

"We should go," James said decisively, then softened his voice. "You ready?"

Camille nodded. He approached her and offered his hand to help her up from the dirt. Her hand was cool to the touch; hopefully they would get out of this sinkhole soon so that she could warm up.

* * *

"Mr. Greene?"

"Yes, what is it?"

"You wanted an update…"

Dominic opened his eyes and focused them on the man standing nearby; one of his minions. His past twenty-four hours in Bolivia had turned into a disaster. It was bad enough that Camille had crashed the gala, but to also have the indefatigable MI6 agent appear on the scene was almost more than he could bear. Then Elvis, his cousin and right-hand man, nearly had his neck broken by some woman connected with Bond. Not only was Elvis now propped up in a neck brace somewhere, after having spent the remainder of the night in hospital, a man and woman matching the descriptions of Bond and Camille turned up in the desert near his Tierra Project. At the rate that things were going, Quantum was going to blacklist him for failure to maintain control of things.

"This had better be some good news," Greene muttered. He sat up from the sofa that he had been resting on.

"Our men out by the Tierra Project have examined the wreckage of the airplane that Bond and Montes hired. They found no sign of them."

Dominic got up and poured himself a glass of purified water from a nearby carafe. "So are you telling me that they could still be alive?"

"The men also reported that they may have fallen into one of the many sinkholes there, but in any case, they never saw a parachute deployed, nor did they find one in their search.

He sighed, irritated at the lack of confirmation. "What about the woman who was with Bond last night? Were you able to get any information from her?"

"No. She seemed truthful in not knowing his plan or whereabouts."

"Where is she now?"

"In the truck, we are ready to take her back to the hotel as you instructed."

Greene left the room to see that everything was in order; he hated loose ends. When his other henchmen saw him approach and motion for the back doors of the small truck to be opened, they did so immediately. He climbed inside and unzipped the bag. An overwhelming smell of oil drifted out.

"Well, this should get the message across."

* * *

The pace they set wasn't very fast. Without having a light source they had to be careful not to trip on any sharp rocks. For the most part the ground was sandy, which made the going easier for Camille, who carried her high heels and walked barefoot. Eventually they reached an area that opened up into a cavern filled with boulders and chunks of stone. Something seemed unusual about the rock formations; James picked up one and examined it.

"They used dynamite." He tossed it away and looked up the mound; there was more open space above. "This used to be a riverbed," he told Camille before starting to climb up.

She followed him up and stared at what greeted her at the top. A small lake of water lay still in a cavernous expanse. James voiced what she had been thinking.

"Greene isn't after the oil. He wants the water."

"We can't leave it like this," she said, knowing how expensive it already was to get water in Bolivia.

"It's one dam. He's creating a drought. He'll have built others."

"He had everyone worried about oil, when it's fresh water we take for granted."

"There's an exit shaft to the left side."

Camille reached out and lightly touched the fabric of Bond's shirt. Instantly he stopped and looked back at her.

"We should stop and drink. The water should be clean enough, and it's going to be a long walk."

They walked around the perimeter to a place where they could access the water without disturbing sediment. James and Camille cupped water in their hands drank thirstily, ignoring the dust on their fingers. When they finished, they made their way through the narrow shaft. James kicked open the door that separated them from the outside, and the two stepped out into a murky daylight.

"I think I saw this area on the map," Camille informed him. "There is a village southeast of here."

She handed back his dinner jacket, and he glanced at her torn dress.

"Will you be alright?"

"Yes."

James had to admire her fortitude; this woman was prepared to trek across the barren landscape wearing little more than evening attire. She didn't bother to don her heels, so she would have to continue barefoot. There was nothing he could do to help, so they set off. It would be at least a couple hours before they reached civilization.


	6. VI

VI.

 _Anger and agony / Are better than misery / Trust me I've got a plan / When the lights go up you'll understand -"Pain" Three Days Grace_

From a distance it seemed as though there was a commotion in the deteriorating village. When James and Camille got closer they realized that a main water tank had run dry. The distress on the peoples' faces was hard to look at; as it was they barely managed to eke out an existence. Those villagers would never know, but the man and woman who passed by had the knowledge that would soon aide them – just not this day.

As it happened, a transport bus appeared on the road ahead, and stopped to let on a family. Although elated at the fortunate timing, James and Camille were too exhausted to express it, and they swiftly boarded the well-occupied bus. A kindly person gave them something to drink, which they accepted gratefully. As the transport rattled towards the capital, it wasn't long before the pair drifted off to sleep.

It was dark by the time the bus arrived in La Paz. Bond was awakened by the halting motion of it stopping to let off passengers. He felt a pressure on his shoulder and his eyes fell upon Camille's dusty, tousled hair. After a moment she too awoke, and hastily straightened and moved away from him; she was just as surprised to find a patterned blanket spread over them both.

"What's this?" Camille asked as she pulled it off.

James smiled in amusement. "A loan." He took it and folded it a couple times before passing it back to a small, elderly woman.

She had taken pity on the overdressed, yet under-prepared couple, and had offered Bond the blanket earlier in their journey. He was grateful at the kind gesture – fatigue had been making him cold, and Camille had been shivering in her sleep.

James turned back towards the young woman beside him. "How could I say no to her?"

Soon afterward they exited the bus and went to Bond's hotel, the Andean Grand. He didn't hesitate walking straight into the pristine white lobby, despite their disheveled appearance, and ignored the curious stares of other guests. A man from the concierge desk recognized Bond, and quickly came over. The fact that this particular guest was quite affluent seemed to dissuade him from commenting on clothing that would otherwise have made him inadmissible.

"Excuse me, sir. Your wife left a message." He glanced at Camille and corrected himself, as though he had spoken out of turn. "The English woman, she left it for you this morning."

The note had one word – _run_. James instantly looked up in the direction of his room.

"What is it?" Camille asked.

"Would you mind waiting here?" he said quietly.

"I'll be outside." There was no point in attracting attention to herself.

She went to stand by the side of the building, but hadn't even been outside a minute when two solemn men in suits approached her. She could tell that they were armed from an outline underneath their blazers.

"What do you want?" she said fiercely, and then realized the only logical answer. "MI6…You're here for Bond, aren't you?"

The men ignored her question and one of them reached for his cell phone.

"Tell Bond I'm sorry, but this isn't my fight," she told him.

He relayed the message and a moment later put the phone away. "You're free to go."

Camille glared at them, and then disappeared from sight. She walked briskly down a side street until she was sure that she wasn't being followed, and then stopped to lean against the side of a building. If she knew James Bond at all, she was certain that he would finish what he started; MI-6 or not. Bringing down Greene's organization was only a part of it, but what really drove him was personal. Camille drew in her breath sharply. She couldn't abandon him now. It only took her a few moments to find a parked car that was unlocked. She deftly hot-wired the battered Volkswagon and sped back to the hotel.

Her timing couldn't have been better if she tried; James was striding away from the hotel, and she halted abruptly in front of him.

"Get in," Camille ordered.

Even now he had something cocky to say; "Are you going to try and shoot me?"

Her voice lowered. "I said, get in."

James complied and they sped off down the dusty streets.

"We need to change clothes," she said matter-of-factly, and then glanced at him. "I see you travel lightly."

"Luggage just gets in the way."

"I know a place that you can buy something." Camille looked over at him again. "Something that you would approve of."

He smiled a bit. His preference for fine tailoring was not lost on her.

James and Camille soon abandoned the car in an alleyway and proceeded to the menswear shop. A concise story about lost luggage, followed by a large purchase, removed any suspicion from the clerk's mind. A short taxi ride put them at outside a rundown-looking building. James followed Camille up a dingy staircase, not saying a word. Nevertheless, she twisted and looked back at him.

"This isn't the Grand," she said as a warning.

"I wasn't interested in having room service anyway," he replied.

There were only a couple doors at the top of the stairs; both were residences above a business. She unlocked her flat with a key she had pinned in her dress, and they entered. Camille flipped on the lights and strode inside.

"Well, come on in. There isn't much to see. The bathroom is to your right; you can get cleaned up first."

James wasted no time in stripping off his dirty, blood-stained clothing and taking a shower. He casually inspected the contents of her cabinets and drawers while he dressed. Once finished, he walked through the rest of Camille's tiny flat and found her on a small balcony, gazing out at La Paz.

"I know someone who will give me information on Greene's whereabouts," he said.

She raised an eyebrow. "MI-6 doesn't seem to know… CIA?"

"Yes."

James gazed out over the city for a moment, then turned and looked back inside. "Is this a safe house of yours?"

"No. I live here when I'm in the city; as you can see, that hasn't been for a while."

Just inside the balcony was the living room which ran the width of the apartment. The narrow kitchen was like a hallway that bisected the rest of the space, leaving the bathroom on the left, and the sole bedroom to the right. Her room had only a curtain for privacy – it was unlikely she had to use it much other than to keep light out – and with it drawn back Bond could see straight in. It was small and simple, yet the bed had a sumptuous, white duvet.

Camille followed his gaze and smiled a little. "That's my one indulgence."

He thought of making a comment, but refrained. "I won't be long."

"Don't get lost," she said as he departed.


	7. VII

VII.

 _I think you're so blinded by inconsolable rage that you don't care who you hurt. When you can't tell your friends from your enemies, it's time to go. –M_

It was likely that there were jobs within the CIA that were more uncomfortable and more boring, but Felix Leiter couldn't think of one at present. The upstairs of the Incan Exportad, in reality a CIA base in La Paz, was hot and unpleasant smelling. If his last mission had gone a little better – with the agency getting a live LeChiffre instead of a dead one – maybe he wouldn't have gotten sent on this lackluster assignment. Nevertheless, he would have been able to deal with a bit of chastisement from his superiors had they not sent him with Section Chief Gregg Beam.

Felix took a gulp of his lukewarm bottled water, wondering when Beam would take a break so that he could pull out his stashed bottle of bourbon and take a swig.

"You're gonna get botulism if you keep drinking that," Beam warned him.

"It's _bottled_ water," he responded matter-of-factly, feeling deeply irritated by the other man's ignorance, and took a few puffs of his cigar.

"It probably came from some stream just around the corner from here. Bunch of little kids peeing in it…"

"That's why I eat the peppers." This wasn't Felix's first or even seventh time in South America; he'd already learned from experience what it took to avoid getting ill. If Beam was trying to make him lose his cool, it wasn't going to work.

"Well, all I'm saying is…" the section chief continued while stalking an insect with a flyswatter, "you can't trust a damn thing around here." He swatted furiously and missed.

Felix rolled his eyes.

Just then the telephone rang – the most exciting occurrence in over an hour.

" _Incan Exportad. Buenos Noches_." Felix answered with the customary Spanish greeting for their business front, and was surprised to hear a familiar voice reply.

"You know, you should just answer 'CIA', Felix," Bond remarked. "A taxi driver told me where the office was."

"Well, if we're so easy to find, James, you really should come visit," he said, glancing over at Beam, who was staring at him.

"Or maybe you should come out and see more of the city."

"What was that about?" Beam demanded the instant Felix put the receiver down.

"Bond wants me to come down to the local tavern." He got up and started leaving.

"Right now? Why would he call us when he knows there's a target on the back of his head? Wait, he's going to want information about the oil…"

"What do you want me to tell him?"

"Make it clear that he's got no sway in this. MI6 is already here to bring him in, and we've got this sealed up with Greene; we will take him down if he tries anything."

"I'll sum that up for him," Felix said over his shoulder as he walked out the open door.

"But you have to keep him there long enough for me to get some backup!" Beam called out after him as he scrambled to roll out.

Minutes later, Felix sauntered down the alley to the local watering hole and found Bond waiting bar-side with a beer. Despite being practically a fugitive, he was dressed well, as always.

"I heard a rumor you'd gone native."

"Felix," James greeted him with a handshake. Leiter ordered himself a beer as the other man continued talking. "You know, I was just wondering what South America would look like if nobody gave a damn about coke or communism. It's always impressed me the way you boys have carved this place up."

"I'll take that as a compliment, coming from a Brit," Felix replied, taking a gulp of the cold beer.

James' voice took a serious tone. Are you sure you're playing with the right side?"

"Regimes change once a week down here. Medrano will be no dirtier than the next guy."

"Oh, that's what I like about U.S. intelligence – you'll lie down with anybody."

"Including you, brother. Including you," he retorted.

"Do you know you're being played? Dominic Greene's going to suck this place dry, and then he's going to move on, and you're going to be left picking up the broken crockery."

Felix was amused by the way Bond's decidedly 'English' expressions sometimes crept into his speech. "What can I tell you? There's no such thing as a free lunch."

"Well you see, Felix, I don't think you're half as cynical as you make out to be."

"You don't know me."

"Why? Just because you didn't come alone?"

Felix stared at him and could tell that James knew the small talk was just a waste of time. The lingering feelings of resentment he had been feeling toward Bond were slipping away; after all, the business with LeChiffre wasn't personal. James obviously trusted him enough to have this conversation despite the fact that he knew Leiter couldn't dodge the expectations of his own organization.

"How long have I got?" James asked.

"Thirty seconds."

"Well, that doesn't give us a lot of time, does it?"

Felix decided to level with him. He lowered his voice and spoke quickly and concisely. "Medrano can't move until he pays off the army and the police chief. Greene's bringing him his money now. A hotel called _La Perla de las Dunas_ , in the desert."

James' intense gaze met his and he saw true gratitude. "Thank you, Felix."

Time was up. "James, move your ass."

The words were barely out of his mouth when special forces stormed the premises, and Bond leapt over the bar counter and ducked out of sight. Felix knocked back the remainder or his drink, slipped past the squad, and ambled back down the narrow passageway to the street. Beam was waiting there with the company car.

He was incredulous, not expecting that James Bond would have gotten away. "What the hell happened? What did you tell him?"

"Just what we agreed," Felix replied, and got into the passenger side. It was true – they scarcely even discussed oil.

* * *

 _ **Author's Note:**_ This chapter is straight-up Felix appreciation. He's just so done with how things are going, but still patient enough to play out the long game in this intrigue. I would have liked to see his character in at least one of the following two movies, but alas.


	8. VIII

VIII.

 _We never really know anyone, do we? -M_

Camille heard a soft knock at the door. Although she was expecting Bond, she knew better than to be careless. She snatched her handgun off the kitchen counter and crept to the door. Keeping a firm grip on the weapon, she unbolted it and opened it a crack. James stood there looking quietly amused.

"You may want to consider better security measures," he commented as he entered. He glanced at her gun, which she now held at her side. "That's a good start."

"One can't be too careful. How did things go?" Camille asked as she returned to the kitchen, and placed the gun back on the counter.

Bond followed her. "Greene is going to a hotel in the desert called _La Perla de las Dunas_ tomorrow to pay Medrano."

"I know where that is; it's a little ways from here."

"We'll leave before dawn, should give us plenty of time." James saw that she was preparing food and suddenly felt overwhelmingly hungry.

Camille glanced over and noticed him eyeing the meal. She smiled a bit. "I went out and got something to eat; there wasn't much here. Go sit down, I'll bring it over."

He felt an urge to walk up behind her and wrap his arms around her body, inhale the smell of her hair and kiss her neck. The image was too charmingly domestic – it must have been low blood-sugar levels, since he couldn't remember when he had last eaten. A couple minutes later Camille brought two plates of modest Bolivian fare to the small sofa and coffee table in the living room and sat down beside him.

"I rarely cook, I hope it's okay."

That didn't matter to him – he consumed everything at a rapid pace. Camille was pleased, though she did her best not to show it. It was only after their late meal that they ventured into a bit of conversation for the first time. James and Camille had been in each other's company for a full twenty-four hours and had barely spoken. All that travel time was spent trying to get a bit of rest. Even when they walked through the out of the desert they hadn't talked much just to avoid becoming needlessly parched. And now, what was there to say? The past was painful, the future was uncertain and perilous. The only thing was the present, so they discussed La Paz, London, their respective residences, her ability to hotwire almost anything, and his ability to drive or fly almost anything.

Camille felt a warm, contented feeling – she couldn't remember when she last felt that way. She realized that she'd dropped her guard a bit, and James must have felt something similar because the conversation died out.

"We need to get an early start," she stated, and began clearing away the dishes. She paused when she reached the kitchen. For a moment Camille wondered if there was a point in washing up; there was no guarantee that she would be coming back after what lay ahead. Then she considered the fact that she would still see dirty dishes in the morning, and began cleaning. To her surprise, Bond helped dry things and put them away.

"Don't ever tell anyone about this," he said jokingly.

"I don't think anyone would believe me anyways," she replied.

After that, Camille went and straightened up her room. "You can sleep in here," she told him. "You won't fit on the couch."

He glanced over at it. "Nor will you. I'll sleep on the floor; just give me a blanket and pillow."

"James, take the bed. A guest shouldn't be on the floor."

"The bed is large enough – are you opposed to sharing?"

Camille had a look of shock that quickly changed to suspicion. "If you think I'm just going to…"

"You take one side, I'll take the other," he said simply.

She glared at him but did not discern any ulterior motives. "Fine."

They went through short nighttime routines, then Camille turned off the living room lights and closed the curtain as she re-entered the bedroom. James noticed that she was clad in a tank top and shorts, so when she sat down on the other side of the bed he had a momentary look at the scar on the middle of her back – the burn she had sustained when trapped in her burning house.

She set her handgun on the night table and slipped under the blankets. Camille tried not to watch as James pulled off his shirt, exposing his muscular back, and tried not dwell on the fact that he was only wearing boxer-briefs – he had merely removed a few layers of clothing since he didn't have anything else. Once he was under the duvet, she turned off the bedside light. They lay there silently in the dark for several minutes, before Bond started speaking.

"The woman with me at Greene's party…"

"With red hair? She's pretty."

"She's dead."

"What? When?"

"Sometime today before we returned to La Paz."

"How?"

"She was drowned in oil. Greene wanted to send a message. He left her on the bed."

"The duvet was white, wasn't it?" she asked, though it sounded like a statement. "Why say this to me now?"

"Whatever you need to do tomorrow – I'll see it through with you."

Somewhere between the lines she could read the guilt he felt for leaving the red-haired woman alone to later die a terrifying death. Greene's words also came back to her – everything Bond touched withered and died. Perhaps there was some truth in that. In any case, she was glad that she hadn't left him earlier that evening. Camille lay on her side with her back to him, thinking of something to say in reply, but couldn't come up with any words that properly expressed her appreciation. The only sound was his breathing. She swiftly fell asleep.


	9. IX

IX.

 _I know... That you're wounded / You know... That I'm here to save you / You know... I'm always here for you / I know... That you'll thank me later -"Pain" Three Days Grace_

Daybreak. James awoke first, almost with a start. For a moment the curve of the woman's form next to him was Vesper's, but it was only for a moment. He reoriented himself with his whereabouts; Camille's flat looked different with light filtering into it. Quietly, he slipped out of bed. James didn't even remember falling asleep last night. Fatigue had finally given in to the security and comfort of this place.

Sensing movement, Camille stirred and turned over. She looked up at him and the ghost of a smile passed across her face. For a moment she entertained the thought of them staying in the warmth of the soft duvet, but it was only for a moment. Bond was already dressing, and she felt something awful grip her insides as she remembered the task ahead of them.

"We should leave as soon as possible," he told her.

"I'll get ready."

Camille knew some people who wouldn't ask questions, and hired one to drive them out to the desert. It was only mid-morning by the time they were dropped off. James selected an outcrop of rock that made for an excellent vantage point of the hotel that would provide cover until it was time to act. The site of _La_ _Perla de las Dunas_ looked more like a futuristic moon base than a hotel. It was evidently on lockdown, as there were guards patrolling and no other movement on the grounds. James had never been fond of stake-outs, however he was handling the stress far better than Camille – she had just taken her handgun apart for the second time.

"What are you doing?" he murmured.

"The slide is caught. Maybe you should check yours."

"I will," he replied and continued to watch her putting the gun back together.

She was nervous, and this exercise at least distracted her a bit.

"Have you ever killed someone?" he asked.

Camille looked up at his dark sunglasses, but said nothing. She didn't need to, he already knew the answer.

James continued; "Your training will tell you that when the adrenaline kicks in you should compensate, but part of you is not going to believe the training because this kill is personal. Take a deep breath. You only need one shot. Make it count."

His words seemed to steady her. When the time came, he hoped that they would convince him as well. Greene and his entourage were arriving; it was now or never. James watched Camille run along the hotel's rooftop as he made his way over to the underground car park. With the interference that he was going to run, there was little chance that she would be noticed. Even so, he was concerned that she complete her mission. It was almost a foreign feeling. Maybe it was the aftereffects of what happened in Venice that were playing on him, but in the short time that he had been with Camille he felt somewhat emotionally invested in her quest for vengeance.

Breathe. Breathe. One shot. Make it count. Camille focused on Bond's words as she stood hidden from view in a doorway. She could scarcely hear a woman's cries echoing through the atrium. Couldn't hear the initial gunshots from below the building. But the explosion of a part of the power generators that shook the entire structure was unmistakable. She knew that James was going to cause a distraction, but that sounded excessive. Moving into action, Camille took out the guards in front of Medrano's suite. A frantic woman collided with her as she entered the room, and just beyond the door Medrano was waiting for her, having been alerted by the gunfire.

As they struggled, more explosions made the hotel shudder, seeming to get closer. The only point of urgency for Camille was the fact that Medrano now had the upper hand – his hands were around her throat as he said vile things about her mother. She battled back, but he easily overpowered her and sent her crashing into a table. Clutching a jagged piece of glass, she feigned defeat until Medrano came close enough for her to slash and stab him repeatedly. And yet, he just kept coming. Her gun still lay on the floor. Kicking him in the face, she dove for it and aimed steadily…

The primary explosion in the underground car park had started a chain reaction; the rest of the fuel cells that powered the hotel were also exploding. The building was now mostly on fire and collapsing around Bond as he held Dominic Greene from plummeting to his death in the middle of it all. The situation had gotten out of control, and Camille was nowhere to be seen. Just then, a single gunshot sounded out.

"Sounds like you lost another one!" Greene laughed manically.

There no longer was any question as to Bond's priorities. He hauled Greene up onto the as yet stable walkway. James still needed information out of him, so this would at least give him a chance of getting out alive; otherwise he would have just dropped him ages ago. Then he ran in the direction the sound had come from – he had to know if Camille was alive. He could barely discern where to go; everything was on fire now and the stifling heat was suffocating. Finding the room, he kicked open the door and ran in to find Camille huddled in the only corner of the room that was not yet ablaze. This must have been what it was like when Medrano set her house on fire. Once again saw her as a little girl, trapped in an inferno.

James was down on the floor with her, arms wrapped around her as the timbers creaked and parts of the ceiling caved in. Camille whimpered, almost frozen in terror. His eyes darted around the room, desperately looking for a way out but seeing none. Despite everything that he had been through, all the times that he had defied death, this situation was dire. The young woman must have sensed it also.

"Not this way, not this way, I can't…" she muttered.

This area would collapse any moment. James couldn't let her burn. Camille's gun lay on the floor next to her. Without a word, he grasped it, and then held onto her for a moment. A bullet would be a kindness. She was so much like him. Was this the price for avenging her family?

"Like you said," she murmured, "make it count."

He took the safety off and put the muzzle to her chest. Feeling sick. He had to do this. James kissed her forehead. There might not be a bullet for him.

"Close your eyes," he whispered.

Just before he pulled the trigger a wall panel fell with a crash, exposing a fire extinguisher. James turned and shot it, the force blasted a hole in the wall and sprayed the area with enough fire retardant to give them a path out. Pulling Camille to her feet, they clambered out to the open air and down away from the destroyed building. She all but stumbled out in a daze, but they were alive despite all odds. In the not too far distance Bond could see Greene dragging himself away from the scene. One last piece of unfinished business.

Outside the burning hotel, James found an intact vehicle parked nearby and left in pursuit of Dominic Greene. That was almost forty minutes ago. Camille had trudged a safe distance away to sit and wait. The adrenaline wore off eventually and she all but passed out. It wasn't until the SUV pulled up near her that she woke with a start. James got out walked around to the passenger door to open it for her.

"You alright?" he asked.

"Well enough," she replied. "Is Greene dead?"

"Not when I left him in the desert."

"I'm surprised."

"I have what I need from him. If he survives, he'll have his organization to answer to," James stated the matter of fact.

"'Neat and tidy,' I believe the expression goes," Camille remarked.


	10. X

X.

 _I don't think the dead care about vengeance  
_

Neither of them spoke the entire drive, partly because of exhaustion, but mostly from emotional impact of Camille's vengeance having been carried out. Years of rage and grief, all of it focused into that one goal. There must have been so many times that she wanted to give up, but the blood of her family had demanded justice and there was no one else who could achieve it. Unless this had been laid to rest, she could never move on. But today, her courage to face every fear that had tormented her, to walk through fire to carry out recompense, was likely one of the most courageous deeds he would ever witness.

Now that James had the information on Quantum, he had to move quickly. It also meant that the time to part with Camille Montes had arrived. They eventually reached a town that had a dusty train station across from a cemetery. He stopped the SUV and they sat silent a few moments.

"Thank you," she said simply. Camille realized that though they had had a common goal of finding Dominic Greene, James had put his vendetta on hold to assist with her own. There was nothing in it for him, no reason why someone like him should care about the sufferings of someone like her. However, he had been there in body and spirit. James Bond would have put that last bullet in her if it had meant at least saving her from one final horror. There were no words to convey gratitude for those things. Camille would have continued with him from then on, but she could see their paths diverging.

James nodded slightly in acknowledgement. "It's my pleasure," he murmured in reply. If there was only going to be one opportunity in his life for him to truly help someone, maybe helping Camille was it. Something in his soul had stirred when they spoke in that cave; yet it wasn't until those last few moments that James knew that he would either leave that place with her or not at all. "You alright?" he asked, glancing at the woman. She still seemed in a daze.

"Fine. But I keep thinking, 'He's dead – now what?'" Indeed, she could not consider living her life until this mission had been accomplished, and that was assuming that she survived it.

"Well, the dam we saw will have to come down, and there'll be others too. Someone who worked for Greene might be of help." James' suggestion was practical, giving her a short-term goal to throw herself into.

"Not a bad idea," Camille agreed. She looked over at him with her child-like earnestness that prompted her to ask the question that had haunted her thoughts: "Do you think they'll be able to sleep now?"

James was quiet a moment and then answered honestly, with a conclusion he had not been able to admit to himself: "I don't think the dead care about vengeance."

Maybe it was not the answer she expected, but Camille understood it – vengeance was for the living to have peace. And was evident that James was far from peace.

"I wish I could set you free; but your prison is in there," she said, lightly running her fingers across his battered face as their eyes finally met.

James suddenly leaned in and kissed her with intensity that he could not otherwise convey. When her eyes opened Camille saw his soul in his icy blue gaze. Deep pain that had left him heart-broken, grief-stricken; yet, also his resolve that kept him going, burning like an inextinguishable fire. Only for that instant did she see it, because it was clear that his pursuit for the peace he needed would be a long journey that she could not follow. If she didn't force herself to leave now, neither of them could begin. This was parting.

He knew it also, and watched her shut the door and march toward the station. James did not expect to right all the wrongs of the world; he was not going to be a hero to everyone, and he could not kill every monster. Yet for this woman, he put everything on the line. James saw himself in Camille, and if no one could ever see inside him again, he would always know that she did. James never hoped that he would be healed, but if he brought relief to her, perhaps he too could find some amount of solace.

 _Postuum_

* * *

 _ **Author's Note:**_ Thank you to everyone who took the time to read this story! I welcome your comments and questions - feel free to send them along.


End file.
